


Hunter in the Night

by DangerSlut



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Gen, M/M, Slasher AU, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2677124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerSlut/pseuds/DangerSlut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't walk alone in the woods at night, kids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunter in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> A little Slasher Au ficlette for Postmortemtsarina

Will lungs burned as he ran through the forest, trudging through knee high snow as quickly as he could. His face is freezing and his feet starting to go numb, making him stagger every few steps. His heart was pounding in his ears, drowning out any other sound, and his vision blurred by unshed tears of terror.

He had been walking the woods around his secluded home, taking some time to himself and letting the crisp, fresh air clear his head. He had a particularly hard day at work, another victim, another murderer, cropping up. He hadn’t been able to read this one well enough yet to be of any help to Jack, and he had gotten a loud, angry earful over it from Jack anyways.

He needed the time alone, away from his dogs and his home, to try and shake the feelings of anxiety and shame he had left work with. 

He should have just gone home. Should have curled up with his dog and a t.v dinner and slept until he forgot his failure.

At first it had started with the sound of branches breaking behind him. He had though it was an animal, a deer or something, and let it slip his mind. Then they became louder, then the crinkle of plastic mixed with it, and when he had turned to see what was fallowing him, he froze in fear.

A man had been following him; well dressed for the winter, wearing a plastic suit over his clothes, and a knife glinting in his hand, reflecting the light of the full moon. Will had only been able to see half of the man’s face in the darkness, hard and pale, but his eyes burned like fire. Hungry, furious, predatory… Will turned and ran as quickly he could. 

He didn’t know if he had out run the other man, didn’t know how long he had been running for, but he didn’t dare turn a look. He didn’t want to see his impending doom if the stranger was still after him and his own heartbeat was smothering any other sounds.

He can see the edge of the forest now though, the tiny lights of his home sparking him hope in him. He gets a second wind, more determined than ever to make it to safety, to make it to a phone to call the police and then to his rifle. 

Will was about to shout in victory, about the cross the tree line and into the open, but a something heavy hits him in the back, knocking him down onto his front. 

The wind is knocked out of him the moment he hits the snow, a log hidden under it crushing the air from his lungs. Gaping like a fish fresh plucked from the river, he squirms in the snow, trying to stand up. Trying to get his feet under himself so he could continue running.

A large, dark shadow stretches over him, followed by weight on his back, the monster sitting on his lower back to keep him pinned. Will thrashes under the killer, throwing elbows behind him in a final, desperate attempt to get away.

Will keens as a cruel hand warps around the back of his neck and forces his face into the snow, the layer of crusted ice on top cutting into the tender flesh of his cheeks. 

Pain lances through his back; sharp and terrible and deep. He shrieks in pain, kicking and clawing at the snow uncontrollably as he tries to endure it, but it comes again and again, giving him to reprieve from the pain. It hurt so bad, so fucking bad. Worse than getting punched in the face, worse than breaking bones, worse than anything he had ever experienced before. Fuck, he wasn’t going to survive this. 

The killer is stabbing him, he realizes belatedly, his struggles becoming weaker. He tries to breathe through the snow, but all that comes from it is a wet whistling sound. Bastard must have punctured one of his lungs.

When he stops fighting, the stabbing stops too, and he lies there, wheezing wetly. The weight lifts off his back and he is flipped over, making him cough crimson blood onto undisturbed snow.

Eyes flicking up, Will looks at his killer. The stranger looked as prim and proper as he had been when Will first set eyes on him, except for the flushed colour of his cheeks and the tent in the front of his murderer’s stupid plastic suit.

Of all the people who he could possibly be killed by, it had to be a sexual sadist. Great.

Before the darkness takes over, leaving him to bleed out in the snow, Will Graham prays that the psycho won’t do anything to his corpse.


End file.
